Perfect

I had a dream last night. This is the dream.

Incidentally, because I wrote it while I was still half sleep, did not proof read, and then fell back asleep, I had forgotten about it, and the fact I wrote it, until much later on, I found it. Typos and incomplete thoughts, all intact.

Perfect
I sometimes just want to sit in a
Perfect diner
Playing a perfect old song
With a perfect shining quarter
Feeding a perfectly worn juke box

Eating perfectly golden fries
In a perfectly shaped booth
Sitting perfectly still
Holding your perfectly shaped ringless hand

Tell you a perfect old tale
About a perfect Sunday morning
There I packed a perfect tiny bag
Left a perfect life

"But this is perfect," you’d say
"Perfect is an overused word"
I reply in a perfect monotone
In my perfect smile

You then take a sip
Of the perfectly over brewed coffee
Holding me perfectly tight

In your perfectly quiet voice
Whispering into my ears
"You and I are perfect
Just the way we are"

And that moment
Feels perfectly alright

I didn't know what happened, but perhaps, time, happened

My darling, if you were to be away, then be away for the holidays. I’d like to think that you are far away, in the tropics – wait, I knew you were going to be in the middle of the land but let me picture you in the tropics instead, with your loved ones and you were playing in the sand, by the white beach, building a sand castle, your hand in dirt, your hair curly, long and wavy and you’d be all smiles.

I’d miss you but I’d be happy, because you were happy. And if I should love you until the day I die, let me be happy for you when you are happy.

I imagined my love for you would fade one day, my longing for you would dissipate as time went on, but I still loved you the way I first discovered that I loved you. It was just after spring break, I had somehow seen you playing a song and the song was titled “I know you are married but I still love you.” I had never felt that tuck as I did that day, I started crying and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know what came over me, but I knew my feelings for you were real, deep and unfathomable.

Since then I have thought that I could terminate the feelings I had for you, or move onto others, but I never could. I didn’t realize that I had it in me, I had it in me to stay faithful, loyal and loving for someone I had nothing more than just that instinct, the instinct of being attracted to and not ever had to wonder why.

So from then on my relationship with you evolved.  I didn't know what happened, but perhaps, time, happened. Time, and the endurance of natural progression of a relationship.There were ups and there were downs, but I knew that you had become part of me.

So a year later, I looked back, and I knew for certain, I loved you.

I couldn't tell how to go from here to there, but I knew, I wanted to be there at the end.

I was, I am, and I will always be, part of you, from now until the end.  

Love, revisited

“I figure that you liked my hair longer.”  Man looked himself in the mirror.

Woman did not realize there was ever a mirror there on the wall.

“Was that new?” She asked.

“No, it was there before.” Man answered, while looking himself in the mirror, tidying up his shirt.

Woman mentally disagreed. It couldn’t have been there, she was on that floor, getting fucked before, she didn’t recall there was a mirror there, she’d have seen herself in the reflection.

“What does that E stand for?” Woman asked while pointing at man’s shirt.

“Edwin.” Man answered.

“I had no idea that you had a middle name.”

Woman was still laying on bed, half covered by a white blanket, her other bare half dangling outside of the sheets. Naked.

“What is that painting? Was it new also?” Woman continued with her questioning.

“What are you looking at?” Man came towards her, and then turned to look at the direction she was pointing.

“It’s been there for a long time. Since the beginning.”

“Beginning as in what? Beginning as in when we started seeing each other? Or beginning when you moved here?” Woman had  thousands of questions.

“Since I moved here.” Man answered.

“I’d like to see you more. When it’s raining.” Woman requested.

“That can be arranged. We are getting into the raining season.” Man held her earlier, in bed.

It was a middle of afternoon, the streets were quiet, the house perched up high on a hill, you could see the sail boat out on the sea, the wind was warm, and the sun was beaming down, and man liked his place quiet, tidy and man liked his woman bare.

There was a point in one’s life when things had definitely calmed down. No drama, no uncertainties, and no unrealistic expectations. Woman had always been good at relationships. One after another, never had trouble keeping man around. She wondered why her friends often complained about not able to find a suitable mate. One time her girlfriend asked of her, “What do you think of him? Do you think you are in love with him? I know you love him.” She was not sure how to answer it. She did the best she could.  “I don’t know. I love him. I am in love with him. I’ve always known that I’d love him. I don’t know what the difference is.” The definition of “love” and “being in love” was a perplexing one for the woman. She only knew one way to love a man. She loved with all her heart, her body, her soul, and the love she knew meant that she wanted him to be free. Free to do whatever he desired, free to love another, if he so chose, and free to leave her, if he so chose.  She knew the only way to potentially keep anyone around for a long time, is to let that person go. It was counter-intuitive, but she didn’t know another way.

“You do know that he’s married. He has a child with her. He won’t leave her. He’s not available.” Her girlfriend would continue.

“But you know, it’s our age. We are at age now where many are married. I can’t control that.” She would reply so matter-of-factly.

“What if he were to leave his wife and ask you to be with him?” Her girlfriend was relentless.

“I’d be with him. I won’t get married. I would be just with him.” She would always answer.

It was a hypothetical question that she knew would yield false hope and unrealistic expectations. She did not want that at all. But she knew her answer, just in case.

A year ago, when she met him, at a wine bar after work, she thought she saw a ghost. A man who looked just like her ex-husband. She knew it was not her ex, her ex-husband had moved to England with his now wife. She was drawn to the man, so against her better instinct, she approached the man and introduced herself. Man did not wear a wedding ring. Man said that wedding ring gave him callus on her hand, she was left handed, and she understood. Man was also left handed like her ex-husband, like her. They drank wine, had dinner and then man invited her over to another bar, there in the dark they made out. Man worked in the city, had a pied-à-terre in the city, and a house in Marin. Man told her that he had been married for 10 years, his wife did not work, and stayed at home. He ran a small consulting firm, specializing in mergers and acquisition. The business had been rough, but he had his booking of business through referrals and reputation. Man had been in the same line of business for his entire life, ever since he got out of graduate school, the same school back east, as it turned out, as her ex-husband. Ex-husband and man were 8 months apart. Woman wondered if he'd recognize her ex. She had changed her name back to her maiden name. That topic never came up. Woman had hopped around a bit before landing this desk job at a small equity firm. She didn’t mind her long trading hours schedule, she was off at 3 and she was often seen in her gym on Montgomery Street, next to where the man worked and also where man worked out.

They never had a routine. They saw each other once a few weeks, man was busy and did not have a lot of time on his hand, he went home every night when he was in town and he saw her during lunch, lunch being the operative word. On special occasions such as holidays, they managed to spend a night together, though never on the actual holiday, but close enough.

A year later, man declared that he loved her.  By then woman had known for a while she loved him back so when that magic word was blurred out, she knew that the feeling was finally mutual.  

Another girlfriend, still married with two kids recently asked the woman, “So what does it mean? What do you want out of this? What is your future with him?” Woman looked at her concerned girlfriend, again, puzzled by the questions.

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘future’. I have a future. I love him. Isn’t that enough?” She answered.

“But what do you want to get out of it? What is that you get out of it? He’s married, he can’t be with you.” Her girlfriend asked.

“He is with me. We share a lot in common. We get along fabulously. As for his state of marriage, I don’t expect him to leave his wife, his child, he’s a responsible person. He should stay with them.” She answered.

Sometimes woman looked at other women with children, and spouses and wondered if she had been missing a lot all along, and if her state of not wanting to get married again had a lot to do with her parents’ divorce, her own divorce, or if she just had not met the right guy to settle down with.  But in a strange way, she’s already settled down, she’s settled down with the man, a man whom she loved with all her heart, and she belonged with him, and he knew it all along. It’s just a matter of how you look at things.

Most women would find this perspective confusing. A woman who was in love with a man but without the expectation of actually being with the man on a full time basis, a woman who did not expect a future with a man she loved, how could it be? How could any of this make sense?

Woman liked to travel. She traveled a lot, mostly to western Europe, but lately she’s been going to South America. She had started to take Spanish class on weekends. She liked the remote rural cities as much as she liked the busy streets of Paris and Rome. Wherever she went she brought back something small, sometimes candies, sometimes a shirt, but always a toy, a boy toy. She liked boy toys, she used to buy them for her nephews, but her nephews had grown into teenagers, she still bought toys for 6 to 8 year old. Her man had a young boy, a 4 year old boy. She brought this boy, whom she never met, a toy each time she went to a new place. Man always thanked her. She did it out of habit; she did it because she felt the man’s boy was important to the man, and therefore important to her.

She had once asked the man what his wife looked like, man described his spouse to the woman. She wondered how could she look so different from the woman man’s married to, and yet she did not ask.

Through singles meet up groups, woman met other women like herself. Women who were also divorced and dating married men. She knew that she was not alone in this situation, but many wanted to eventually remarry. She didn’t. She didn’t know how to convince her concerned girlfriends. They thought she only said it to not keep her hopes up. But she never wanted to be remarried. She didn't want anything to change.

This is her life. 

This is the way things ought to be. 

I will, consider it

I like stories that require no ending, or an ending that does not result in happily ever after. My own personality is such that I don't require a lot of care, I don't demand and I don't have much expectations. So when I write about a story, about a woman and a man, typically the woman is on the submissive, non-drama side. I have spoken to many women and I now know that's not typically the case. But imagine a world where few things need to be said, imagine a world that two people could love each other but don't coexist in the same environment, imagine a love story that required no closure. This is a story about such two people...
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6 A.M., the skyscraper next to the hotel has started construction. Man wakes up. Meeting is at 7:30 in his San Francisco office.

“What’s your day like?” Man asks the woman.

“What?” Woman is still sleepy. She’s nocturnal, the opposite of him, who’s diurnal. Permanently diurnal, as in East Coast diurnal. She’s sleepy and wants to not talk.

“Tell me what you will be doing today.” Man insists.

“Well, I have a couple of deliverables to create, stuff for the Board, and a few presentations to edit. Not so stressful. I don’t have a stressful job any more.” Woman answers while her eyes are closed.

“Why do you ask?” She asks the man.

“Because I want to know.” Man does not give any reason and she’s too tired to drill on this topic.

“Do you want me to take these things with me?” He asks as he folds up handcuffs and blindfolds. Their toys, washed, cleaned and dried.

“Yes. I can’t take them home. Don’t forget the spanking device.” Woman does not know what it is called but she likes it. It hurts her. And she likes being hurt.

Man pounded her last night. Spanked her hard and then pounded her from behind, her face on the pillow, man told her to be quiet, so she was both ecstatic and in pain. It was like a simulated rape. Man rode her hard and deep, she was gasping for air as man pushed her face into the pillow.

They have been in this mode for quite some time now. She wonders how much of it is like the popular mommy porn series played out. She wonders whether man has read it. She has not. She wonders if man likes it because she likes it or if she likes it because man likes it

Five years and counting. Every few months, man comes into town and woman meets man in a hotel. They act as if they have never been apart. They catch up, briefly, and they spend the evening having sex, S&M style. Before the mommy porn book series was written. Woman thinks she and man are ahead of their time.

Man takes photos of her. Naked photos. And videos them having sex. To take home with. Man lives in the East Coast with his wife and daughter. Man has been married for the last fifteen years.

Woman lives in the West Coast with her son and her mother. She is divorced and has been seeing man since she filed for divorce.

“Happy birthday, baby.” Man kisses woman as he’s getting ready to leave.

“Thank you. It was lovely.” Woman is 45 and with dark blond highlights. Shoulder length wavy hair. Woman is curvy and well preserved. Woman’s ex-husband is 8 years younger. She’s always looked young. Ex-husband became ex when woman walked in on ex-husband having sex with her best friend.

“Will you bring them next time when we see each other?” Woman asks. She likes the toys he brings with him.

“Yes. I will. I have a meeting soon with the East Coast. I need to go, baby.”

“I know.” Woman does not ask questions about man’s marriage, his comings and goings, or whether and when they will see each other again.

Five years of the same pattern. Except woman loves the man now. With all her capable heart.

“One day, say 20 years from now, I’ll be 65 and you will be 70. If by then you want a true companion, I want you to consider me.” Woman requests of the man as man walks around the hotel room, making sure that he’s packed everything.

“OK.” Man says.

“OK what?” Woman wants to be clear.

“OK I’ll consider it.” Man leaps back into the bed and gently lies down next to her and puts his arm around her bare back, while extends his hands to cup woman’s bare breasts.

“I like the lights. The lights shines on Keira’s face. The end of everything. The unlikely relationship formed at the end of the world. Literately.” Woman tells man about the movie she saw on the plane. Man saw the same movie on a different flight and liked it too.

“What are you doing this week?” Woman casually asks.

Man knows by now woman does not ask man out on dates anymore or expect to see man after they just meet. Man must initiate it. Man is more relaxed around woman and decides to give her a run down of his schedule.

“Work, and my usual responsibilities.” Man says.

Man has gotten older lately. Woman remembers how they first met, some twenty years ago, when she was barely 25 and man was 30 at the time. They reconnected five years ago. Five years of blissful happiness, and lots of desperate longing and doubts in between man’s absence.

Man surveys the room and starts to sort their toys in his suitcase. Leaving only the present he bought for the woman. A strand of necklace. Man buys woman necklaces on special occasions. Short choker style always. He takes out a card, it’s a simple card he has picked up at an airport just before coming to see her, he writes in the card. “I love you and I look forward to another year of splendor.” He hesitates. Then he decides to take the card out of the envelope and puts the card in his briefcase. Leaving the envelope out, envelope has her name on it.

Man rarely shows emotions. Man wrote this note while thinking about his emotions and feelings. Now man is hesitating about the words written out. It seems to be a little too personal. What if woman now expects a final closure? A proper relationship and not just a proper date from time to time? Man has not prepared for any possibilities beyond the fun and adventures they have been having.

Best sex ever. Best fucking. Best blowjobs received. Best of everything they have ever done. Woman is giving. Woman does anything and everything man tells her to do. Man is soft-spoken, very agreeable, and does what his wife tells him to do. Man is powerful at work but has never been the person who wears pants at home. His stay at home wife does.

Man is a MAN in all senses of words with woman. Woman is submissive and likes to be in pain, and be told what to do and how to do it. Woman has always been compliant. Man likes that. Doesn’t every man?

“I will always love you.” Man is up again as he carefully examines the content of his suitcase. Including the card he writes for the woman. He declares his love but does not want to leave any physical evidence.

“Baby, I love you, body and soul.” Woman mumbles and is drifting back to sleep.

Man walks over to the edge of the bed, and kisses woman.

He kisses her lips, gentle, like feather, like he’s leaving his most precious thing behind. Like a piece of him is being left behind. Man wants to bottle woman up sometimes and takes her to places he travels to. Man has realized that he’s been in love with the woman, for sometime now.

“Bye bye.” Woman kisses him back. He tastes like spearmint or fresh mountain air, perhaps.

Man leaves the room. The same room they always book, top floor, overlooks the roof top garden at the adjacent building.

Woman starts to drift back to sleep. One more hour of sleep before she has to get up to go to work also.

She has told her mother, who’s living with her to take care of her son that she had an overnight business trip. No one needs to know that she’s involved with a married man.

Woman will wake up finding the only evidence of love is gone. The only card man has ever written for her in the last five years. The only love declared on paper.

Woman will find her necklace intact. A sign man does exist.

It will be another few months before she hears from him and before they see each other again.

It will be another year before man writes again. And take away what he writes at the end of their date.

It will be just that, a love story. A lonely, unsatisfying, no-ending love story, similar to the ending of Seeking a Friend for the End of the World. The movie both of them have watched, separately, and liked it, together.

It does not end, with them being together, certainly not when man is married and living in the East Coast, certain not now. But woman is hopeful. Her hope is hinged on man's acknowledgment of her 20 year plan, by him replying by saying “I’ll consider it”. Maybe when woman is 65 and man is 70, when their children have grown, when they are gray and frail, they’d finally be together, permanently. Maybe.

Man did say, he’ll consider it.

They don't make men like this any more

The best part of the evening was meeting Princess Donna in person. She's pretty. She's powerful. She showed N8 and me how to make the girls squirt. She was getting a drink at the bar and N8 went to ask her, and she showed us. I think I now know how.  took a photo with her. In my world, she's as big of a celerity as any Hollywood stars. I saw her recently at another shoot. She's the mistress of Public Disgrace site. I actually find her to be quite pleasant and smart. This is her job. She does it well. Two women, film makers, met up at the club and we hang out for a while and chatted. One woman was a writer and asked a lot of questions about me. I gave her straight answers and she was puzzled. She was 32 and not married. One woman pulled down her shirt and showed one of my guy friends her tits. A very attractive lady sitting on a bar stool. Many men were eying her. One of my guy friends went up and got her number. It pays to be tall, cute, the all American blue blood Clark Kent look alike. Another girl took a liking of another guy friend of mine. But then another guy liked her more. So the digits were exchanged but passed from one guy to another.

I make a good wing-man. Women asked me - "What's your story?" Why is everyone asking me "What's your story" these days? Can't I just maintain a slight air of mystery? Next time when someone asks me, I'd reply - "Which story would you like to hear?" Women continued to ask - "So which one of them is your boyfriend?" "How long have you guys been dating?" I always just answer, "none, not dating and I'm married." Why is it inconceivable for a married woman with children to hang out at a swanky bar on Friday night with single guy friends? Why can't married women be out with men other than her spouse? Why can't I be platonic friends with men? I can and I am. I have more women friends than guy friends. One woman asked, "Did you just summon them?" I did just text them. I texted several of my girlfriends too, but guys like bars, women don't. I didn't force them to be there, men came to bars, especially nice looking ones like the Armory club. Good scenery. So it does not take much for them to show up. Women don't like bars in general. So they don't respond to text.

To make a girl become more interested in one guy, who was actually really more into her than he let on, I walked up to the guy and he pulled me closer. Woman eyed him and then me suspiciously. I looked away and whispered to the guy friend, "Yep, she'll be calling you. You are not just a desperate loser who only was chasing her." Sure enough woman hugged him and asked him to call as she was leaving. Women like competitions. Most of them anyway. I am an exception. I suppose. I don't like men who flirt with other women. I actually don't care for players. I'm old fashioned that way.

Women, please don't hate me, I'm just here helping my friends score. Because, it's really hard to meet people these days. And men need all the help they can get.

Except me. I meet people, seems to be every other day. I meet them everywhere. I meet them each and every turn I take. I have never asked to be met. They just came into my life. They are women, men and they are people. I don't necessarily care one way or another, but when an unlikely friendship sprout it always excites me. I have not been in the business of making friends for over a decade.

I like old friends.

This is not a story about heart matters. This is a story about connecting with people and be open and tolerant and without expectations. This is a story about friendship and not love matters.

Guy friends always tell me about their love stories. I also learn from them. I learned that we all are searching for that someone to love us back, and we all search for that special someone whom we can't live without.

I learned that we truly behave differently with the person we care and love the most.

N8 said that he had a girl who sat at the passenger door and waited for him to get out, and open the door for her. He pushed the door open from inside and said there you go. He said that she's not that worth it. But for the woman he loved the most, he'd open doors, put jacket on her, and do anything and everything for her. I suppose that's love or at least gesture of love. N8 would put women in two categories, the "potential relationship" kind and the other. For the potential relationship kind, he takes it easy and pursues them but knows that he may fall in love with them. They often don't want him as much he wants them. Go figure.  For the other kind, they tend to be easy lays and they are always there, his fuck buddies. He has both. I imagine most single men have both kinds if they are of certain age.  They are always pursuing those who don't want to be caught.  They are always being pursued by the others. Well, isn't that universal truth?

My memory is not great. But in my recollection, there was only one guy who consistently opened the passenger side of door for me, helped me to put on my coat, held his arm out so that I could hold him and walk on uneven pavement, and always, always insisted on paying for every meal. We never talked much. We never discussed anything substantial. I never asked him many questions. Neither had he. I knew I'd do anything and everything for him. I believe he knew that of me. I knew everything I needed to know, and what he didn't tell me, or did tell me, never really mattered. My feelings for him taught me what love was. Love was just that. To do all those things that you'd ordinary never do with and for others.  To believe in the person blindly and love foolishly. I told a girlfriend of mine once that we all need to break away from that one person, whom we have given ultimate control to. We must. But we are idiots and we don't. We can't. We don't want to.

I may be older, but I knew what we'd do for those we adore. So next time when someone opens the passenger side of door for you, willingly, someone insists on paying for the meal, someone holds your jacket out as you put your arms through them, even though you don't need him to do any of it, know that it does not happen often, and perhaps you are the one who is worth his effort. Be thankful.

They don't make men like that any more.

Multiple Personalities

Most of the time, I stand on the side line, looking in and I feel that I’m watching four strangers all going about their businesses, heading into four different directions in life, each a different person, each holding a different future. Once my therapist said that I don’t have split personality, I have multiple personalities, I thought everyone is the same as I. Because this is the only person I know, I have always been this way from the very beginning. I have simply, returned to my roots.

Being your call girl

Sometimes I fantasize being (and think that I am) your call girl. A wind up doll. The less you communicate with me the more I feel like an appointment in your diary. With no name just last name initial E. Every 4 to 6 weeks, a booking, an entry. 2-8 hours. Like your client meeting or sales proposal presentation. Except you are the client, my client, my only client.

Before you see me I ask if you have special demand:

What kind of clothes you want me to wear...
what kind of look I should sport...
Are you in a talkative mood or are you simply looking for some peace and quiet?
If it's former, Is there a particular subject you'd be interested in discussing?
If it's the later, should I be as usual, be quiet until you give me the permission to speak? I will be you body pillow, soft, sensual but a pillow nonetheless.

You usually tell me if you have special requirements. How to dress and whether I should wear underwear. But lately you have not requested anything and I'm a little puzzled. I prefer lunch appointments. In and out, quick but satisfying. But lately you've taken me out to dinner, to feed me. We have proper dates. I also sensed that you have developed feelings for me. Feelings clients should not develop for their call girls. I feel too and that scares me. Thankfully, I see you less now. intensity wears off in a couple of weeks. I learned. 

I suspect that you may have another call girl that you see now, someone to provide a different type of needs, or you may be too busy, or maybe I have become stale - it's time for an image overhaul I think. I don't care about your other hobbies. I am not jealous - I wish that I could but that requires real emotions and I prefer to think that I have none. I am never possessive, I never had a grown up relationship you see. Our relationship is the closest one I have ever shared with anyone. I want to ask you about rules. I have sensed that there are some, but I want to know that all so that I could obey. I know that I can't call outside of the day when we are meeting. Everything must be prearranged. I want to keep you as my client. Like you, I have a diary and I mark you simply as B.  You are my semi-regular.

When I see you I become whatever and whomever you want me to be, and I please you the way you want to be pleased. I aim to serve and satisfy you. It's my job. But lately I begin to enjoy more than I should.

When you leave me I go into dormant stage - even though I think about you lots. I move onto other things that do not involve you. I imagine one day we'd cross path outside of our arrangement. I wonder if you'd recognize me. I wonder if I should walk up to say hi. I wonder if you’d call me by my real name.

Sometimes I think being your call girl is not bad. I need to add a quality control process. I want to get an evaluation from you. I want to have an improvement plan in place. Because I take my job seriously and this is a job I enjoy.

I think it’ll be grand if I could be on my knees, for 1 to 2 hours, naked, serving you. That’s what I like to do, because I’m a masochist. I like being submissive, I like serving man, I like being fed of your cock, I like swallowing. That’s the reason I exist, in this world of a call girl, I put emotions away, tucked all the way in the back shelf, and I do my job. And that’s all there is. I can’t deal with emotions. It hurts like hell. It does not belong to someone like me.